


and we'll be free

by glamaphonic



Category: Brave (2012)
Genre: Character Study, Family, Gen, Mother-Daughter Relationship, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 16:10:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glamaphonic/pseuds/glamaphonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Elinor remembers the river.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and we'll be free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Darkicedragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkicedragon/gifts).



> I tried to give you a little bit of everything all wrapped up in an Elinor character study. Hope you enjoy!

Sometimes, she remembers the river. Other times, she remembers so much more.

* * *

Things calm after the clans depart. Or, rather, they become essentially as calm as they ever were, which is not especially. There's a comfort to the familiarity and Elinor does not resent it. She has largely had enough adventure for one lifetime and is not troubled to see it pass.

But there are new comforts as well, in the flex of her horse's thick muscles beneath her and the sting of the wind against her face, tangling her hair. It is not wholly foreign; when she was young, younger even than Merida is now, she learned her father's lands this way, against a backdrop of mountains and lochs not too different from these.

Duty called her away, duty called her here, and now she would rather be nowhere else. She surges in front of her daughter and Merida's sweet laughter rings out. Out of the corner of her eye Elinor can see the bright flash of red, hear the ever louder pounding of hooves, as Merida attempts to overtake her.

There is a curve in the path ahead, a chance to end the dead heat. Elinor laughs as well and spurs her mount onward.

Merida follows.

* * *

_The water is swift and cool and drags against her limbs. She can smell it, the scent of the season and of animals it's passed, and the fish that live within. She recoils. Thinks, unclean and uncouth and unacceptable. But she is so very hungry._

_Merida stands beside her, and her smooth skin seems incongruous. She is all pink and red, and so small. Elinor smells her, to be sure. It seems she should be dark. Darker and bigger and Elinor should be teaching, not the other way around._

_Merida cups her hands and dips them low, then snaps her blunt, little teeth and shakes her head above the fish she's caught._

_The water in Elinor's fur makes her heavy, but not -- she is surprised to find -- too heavy to move. Merida calls out again. It might be encouragement, but her words are jumbled. Elinor dives._

* * *

Elinor has always grasped the importance of stories, so she chronicles her own. The queen who became a bear who became a queen again all with the help of her princess makes for a beautiful and expansive tapestry -- some of her best work, in fact. 

But her daughter is not quite grown and neither of them is through changing, so Elinor leaves it unfinished.

When that has stalled, she picks up her needle and sews scenes of Merida, of Fergus, of Harris and Hubert and Hamish. Sometimes, when she's sketching one out, Merida reminds her so much of herself that she realizes she's put her daughter in a scene she played out in her own youth.

On these occasions, Elinor allows it, and tells the story of the queen before she was a queen at all.

* * *

"What were they like," Merida asks. "Your mum and da?"

Elinor starts, then looks down at her embroidery. It is not the first time Merida has asked, but it is the first since she was very young. Merida scoots closer across the floor. The firelight plays off the pages of her forgotten book. They are alone. Fergus is out with the boys, a hunting trip that Merida declined in order to assist Elinor with overseeing the upcoming harvest festivities. The small warmth that blooms in her chest on such occasions has not yet lost its novelty.

"Noble," says Elinor,"and kind. Proud, stern, and annoying, as parents often are."

Merida scrunches her nose and her cheeks dimple. Elinor traveled far for her marriage, too far to encourage return. When she became Queen of Dunbroch, she became that alone.

Merida rolls onto her back, her mass of unruly curls making a pillow for her head.

"I wish I could have met them," she says.

Elinor sets aside her work, then kneels, leans down until she can drop a kiss on the tiny lines of Merida's knitted brow.

"So do I," Elinor agrees.

* * *

She's boasted perfect posture since she had fewer years than fingers. Her steps have always been measured and even.

Now, she slouches when she's very tired and lumbers along as exhaustion hits.

She's never had to ask twice for things, the tilt of her head and the precision of her tone being sufficient.

Now, those that might have dragged their feet move twice as fast at the curl of her lip, at the leveling of her gaze.

"There's something a wee bit wild about you now, lass," Fergus says to her in the dark, his breathing heavy.

His arm is large and warm about her waist, and she pulls it tighter. Her eyes meet his and that's all it takes anymore to make him flush. She smiles wide enough that her teeth show, gleaming in the moonlight.

* * *

The Lords are pleased with the resolution, but all of their subjects are not.

Elinor receives petitions and letters, not an overwhelming amount, but enough. They demand to have their sons considered or, even at this early date, their daughters for the eldest of the triplets.

Some are polite as can be expected. Others less so.

The third time someone calls Merida a hoyden, Elinor sends the tray holding the correspondence flying across the room into the far wall with a clatter. Maudie's eyes are wide and she shuffles a few feet back.

Elinor smiles kindly and asks for more ink and paper. She sits, serene, and writes out each response.

* * *

_She has never known grass so soft.  It cradles her like the coziest of nests, as the sun shines down and warms her. She yawns a great yawn, mouth wide, then rolls. She rolls over and over again, grass prickling softly through her fur._

When she opens her eyes Fergus's head blocks out the sun. The blanket they laid down for luncheon is a few feet away up an incline. Her skirts are tangled about her legs. Across the way, Merida's bow hangs limply in her hand -- the target she was teaching the boys to fire at standing forgotten in the distance.

"Are you all right, lass?" Fergus asks, furry eyebrows drawn close together.

"Perfectly fine," Elinor answers truthfully.

A giggle is her only warning before Hamish crashes into her, having sent himself rolling head over heels across the field. He flops across Elinor's stomach and looks up at her with wide-eyed innocence. His brothers follow, as always, and it's Hubert who knocks Fergus off balance and sends him crashing into the heap they've made before Harris wedges against them.

"You've all gone daffy," Merida declares loudly, though it is only a distraction before she launches herself at the rest.

* * *

Elinor studies herself in the mirror as she dresses her hair, lets it hang loose down her back. She remembers the village near her father's holdings that she rode through almost every day, the way the people waved and laughed at her delighted yelling. They would recognize her, she thinks.

In the stables, Merida observes her approach with a satisfied smile. Elinor returns it twofold.


End file.
